


If It Hurts To Live

by Tokyo_the_Glaive



Series: That Which We Are [1]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Crying, Dreams and Nightmares, Family Dynamics, Feelings, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, canon alternate realities
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-05-28 21:25:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6345952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tokyo_the_Glaive/pseuds/Tokyo_the_Glaive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Xander understands himself by what he is: a prince, a brother, a son, a general, a shield.</p><p>There is no room for tears, and yet.</p><p>(Alternatively, five times Xander was caught crying by one of his beloved siblings.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Camilla

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aurumite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurumite/gifts).



> Prompted by a conversation by aurumite over on tumblr. This will be part of a series of parallel works, each one focusing on a different sibling. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> (title is taken from an Emily Dickinson poem: "I measure every Grief I meet")

Xander felt something unusual pool in his gut at Father’s words.  Father was sending Corrin to quell the Ice Tribe rebellion alone, and Xander was _afraid_.

_Father intended Corrin to suffer—to hurt, possibly to die._

In the relative safety of his own quarters—relative, because he had learned from an early age to trust the staff only so much—Xander sat on a chaise by a window overlooking a courtyard and held his head in his hands.  He would have to leave soon to accomplish his own task—collecting forces from the north for the coming war—and he had much to do before he left.  His mission promised to be mindless work, all recruitment and no effort, and Xander knew he’d only been given such a task so that he would be unable to aid Corrin.  Camilla and Leo were, so far as Xander understood, in much the same boat.  Whatever trials Father had planned for Corrin, he intended to keep his other children from meddling.

Corrin had made the choice to stick with family, and Father intended to reward that choice with pain.  It was unjust and unfair and—Xander couldn’t help but wonder whether or not Corrin would have done better in Hoshido.

Xander felt his shoulders shaking.   _No_ , he willed himself.  _You cannot…_

Hoshido knew no more of justice and fairness than Nohr.  The world was neither just nor fair.  They all had to learn that at some point.  Corrin had made the right choice.

Even as the thought crossed his mind, Xander swallowed and ran his fingers up into his hair, disturbing his circlet.  He removed it with rather less care than he should have so that he could bunch his fingers in his hair and _pull_.  Tears were welling in his eyes.  He didn’t have the luxury of such a display, he couldn’t—

A knock came at the door, and Xander straightened abruptly.

“A moment,” he called.  His voice did not waver, and for that he felt both pride and resentment.  To be composed at all moments, to be utterly without emotion—that was what he knew, but he understood that others were not held to such standards.  He envied them, sometimes, when he was being honest with himself.

(Xander hadn’t been honest with himself in a long, long time.)

“Brother,” Camilla called from the other side of the door, “I’d like a word.”

Xander allowed his shoulders to drop.  Not a maid or other staff—just Camilla.

 _Just Camilla_.  When he was younger, he’d never imagined he would say or think such a thing.  Not when she and her mother had been hard at work, carving a bloody path toward the throne.  Xander had kept at least one eye on Camilla at all times when they were much younger, waiting for the day her axe would find his neck and sever it in the name of the crown.

(He longed to talk to his younger self, sometimes.   _It’s not her_ , he’d tell himself--the young, frightened version, eager to please but seemingly perpetually unable.  _It’s her mother.  She doesn’t want to hurt you.  She doesn’t want the throne.  She wants to be your sister.  Let her, let her, let her…_ )

“A moment!” Xander called, a little more forcefully than necessary.

After a beat, the handle on the door turned.

“Let me in, Brother,” Camilla said.  With the door cracked, Xander could hear her clearly—that timbre in her voice, always low and teasing.  It used to bother him.  He had never thought he’d understand Camilla, but some time ago, he had started to.  Now, it took every ounce of his restraint not to let her in.  If anyone could look upon him without judgment, tears in his eyes and his circlet clutched in one fist, it would be Camilla.

“I can’t,” Xander said.  His voice didn’t crack.  (He almost wished it would, so that she would know, so that he could finally drop this horrible façade.)

The door pushed open and then swung shut.  Camilla appeared as she always did, radiant and deadly.  She was built for court, though she had no taste for it.

Xander waited for her admonishment.  He expected nothing less.  The evidence of his sorrow was plain as day on his face—he could feel the tracks where a few tears had slipped past his eyelashes and trailed down his cheeks.

Camilla said nothing.  Instead, she came to stand behind the chaise upon which Xander sat.  She placed her hands on his shoulders and gave a squeeze as she rested her chin atop his head.

“He means for Corrin to suffer,” Xander said, the words like sandpaper in his mouth.  “To fail.”

Camilla continued rubbing.  Xander loved and loathed the comfort of her hands.

“And?” Camilla asked.

“And?” Xander echoed.  He didn’t understand her question.  The part of his mind that could never fully trust anyone sent a shiver up his spine, interpreting her query as apathetic.  The rest of him hoped it was something else.

“Will we allow this?” she asked.  She punctuated her question with a sharp squeeze.

Xander allowed himself to take a deep breath and release it.  Of course.  Camilla cared for Corrin as much as he did, perhaps even more so, as if such a thing were even possible.  This pained Camilla as much as it pained him.

 _Then why isn’t she crying like a child?_ Xander asked himself, fierce and defensive.

 _Because she came to you instead_ , the more reasonable part of himself answered.  He was the crown prince.  He was meant to be a pillar of support, of leadership, of— And here he was, crying in his sister’s arms.  She had sought him for guidance, and he had nothing to offer her.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Camilla said, breaking him out of his reverie.  Her fingers dug into him now.  “None of that.  Tell me what we do, that we might do it.  Will we allow this?”

“No,” he said, steeling himself.  Before Camilla had arrived, he had already envisaged every possible outcome, all possible consequences.  Nothing was worth losing Corrin, and as long as it was done quietly, without Father’s direct knowledge… “We won’t.”

Camilla squeezed one more time.  “Good,” she said.  Her tone was vicious and sharp, and Xander couldn’t help but smile.


	2. Leo

It was the massacre of the kitsune, or possibly Corrin’s reaction to the necessity of the act, that tipped Xander over the edge.

The moon was high and the skies over Hoshido were cloudless as Xander sat outside of his tent, unable to sleep.  He had no love for war because he had no love of violence and death, but he found new ways to despise it every day.  For one thing, he had no outlet for this—these— 

Xander took in a deep breath, let it out.  Were they home, in Nohr, or anywhere other than a sleeping camp, he could have taken his blade to a practice dummy, slicing it to ribbons to calm himself down.  It was a tactic he’d used for years when he disagreed with Father’s policies, or when Iago made a particularly cruel political move, or when he visited Corrin at the Northern Fortress and remembered, for the umpteenth time, that the Fortress was a prison designed for a single inmate, life sentence.

The thought, even after the fact, made Xander’s blood boil, but as he sat before his tent, it was that glade, littered with leaves of the loveliest orange and sticky with the blood of the kitsune, that stuck out in his mind.

They had been defending their borders, Xander knew.  Protecting their own kind, watching their own backs.  Gods knew humans weren’t going to help them.  The wolfskin of Mount Garou were no different, from their tactics to their problems.  Corrin had recruited at least one of the wolfskin, though Xander had never spoken to him.  He wondered how he was holding up, if he saw the parallels between the kitsune and his own people.

Xander closed his eyes, resting his face in his hands.  There had been no other way, he knew that.  The Hoshidan defenses were too strong to cut straight through, and they’d had to go around, simple as that.  Years of performing similar deeds ought to have inured him to the horror of massacre, but he felt himself shaking nonetheless.

_ No _ .  He was out in the open.  He couldn’t do this here, not now, yet he felt his eyes go wet with tears. 

Xander made to stand, intending to lay within the confines of his tent. At least there, no one could see him should he cry as if he were a child once more.  Before he could, though, something moved off to one side and he startled, reaching for his blade.

Leo stood alone a few paces away, his pale face almost floating in the dark. Xander wondered what Leo saw that left him looking so stricken, then realized that the tears had slipped from his eyes to his cheeks. Leo stared at them openly, lost.

“Xander,” Leo said. “I was just—” He swallowed, eyes wide at the picture Xander presented.

“Leo,” Xander said. He infused his voice with as much strength and conviction as he could muster. It was far less than he had hoped, but it would have to do. “It’s late. You should rest.”

Leo grimaced. “I know,” he said. “I was just going.” He spun on his heel and walked in the opposite direction.

“Leo,” Xander said. He couldn’t call or shout, not when their comrades slept around them—Corrin for one had only just managed to go to sleep—but Leo kept walking, forcing Xander to walk after him.

“Leo,” Xander repeated. He gripped his brother’s arm and stopped him.

Leo turned, bracing himself.

“Was there something you wanted?” Xander asked.

“No.”

“Don’t lie, little brother.”

Leo scowled at him. “It’s not important.” Xander said nothing and waited for Leo to crack. “Fine. I wanted to ask you about something, but I saw you...and I... “ Leo pursed his lips. “I figured you’d want to be alone. We can talk tomorrow.”

“Leo,” Xander tried, but when Leo pulled his hand away, Xander did not follow.

* * *

Leo didn’t come to him the next day, or the day after. If Xander noticed how Leo gravitated closer to his side after particularly difficult battles, or how he seemed just a little softer in their few moments alone, he would never say.


	3. Elise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long awaited, and longer than the previous two. It's rather different, too; any feedback would be appreciated. Please enjoy!

Xander fights: he swings and he slashes and he parries with everything he has, putting every ounce of anger and pain and disgust he has into his blows. The room about him shakes; the braziers flicker, their fires retreating from the dark light of Siegfried. Chunks of rock fall from the mosaic on the ceiling, the edifice crumbling with each and every swing. Xander has to win, he understands. To lose is not just to die but to fail Nohr, to fail in everything he’s ever tried.

So he fights, and he screams, and he’s winning. He knows he is. He’s gaining ground, at least. He passes the medallion of the Dark Dragon in the center of the room; he takes that as a good omen, a sign of victory. He fights harder, lunges faster, his footwork as impeccable as his swordsmanship. He’s always preferred fighting from horseback, but this fight deserves a personal touch.

His opponent goes down, looks at him. Xander couldn’t have said who it was beforehand, but as soon as he sees, he knows as if he’s known the entire time: it’s Corrin. _Family_ —but Corrin’s bearing Hoshidan arms. _Traitor_.

“Get up,” Xander orders. His voice isn’t hoarse; it hasn’t been a difficult fight. Corrin stares at him with baleful eyes full of tears and shaking hands that can hardly grip a blade anymore. Corrin tries to rise, stumbles, falls.

Xander knows what he has to do. He lays the point of Siegfried at Corrin’s throat and winds up for a slice—a theatrical move, not one he’d ever try in battle, but one befitting of this ignominious death.

Something moves. It’s a blur, blonde and black and pink. Someone screams.

Xander drops Siegfried, moves faster than he has at any point during the fight, only to fall to his knees on the floor. There’s Elise, her stomach slashed wide open from his attack. The blood spreads onto the pink and white of her dress, the ribbons and hearts and flowers that Father had never approved up but which Elise had worn anyway. She’s so pale now, and growing ashier by the second.

Now, it’s as if Corrin has disappeared. The lights go steady again, but the building’s still quaking, or maybe it’s just Xander. He cradles Elise close and wills the world into stillness, just for this moment. He has to get a healer— _anyone_ —but his voice won’t work. Somehow, he knows there’s no one to help. It’s their castle, their _home_ , but there’s no one else to save Elise now. He can do this, he can—

“Please don’t fight,” Elise murmurs, voice low, shaking. Xander tries to put pressure over her stomach as he holds her head up. He has to stop the blood flow. Elise had shown him how to heal, once, when she was very young. She’d been so proud, she’d made everyone sit through her demonstrations. Leo had been too young to appreciate her enthusiasm, but Xander and Camilla had dutifully sat through her “lessons”. Xander had never been very good at it, but he had been able to reduce the swelling of a bruise. Elise had been so proud of him.

He can’t bring the incantation to his lips or his fingers to her staff. He feels leaden, useless, like a discarded doll.

“Xander.” Elise’s voice brings him back in, and he focuses on her face. The room’s darker, but she’s so white. How much time has he lost? The blood hasn’t spread so much, but he can’t afford to daydream any longer. He can’t heal her; he has to get someone else, she has to survive—

“Elise,” Xander says finally. He feels his own throat closing in fear. He hushes her, and it hurts as if he’s sustained an injury of his own. “Save your strength, I—”

“No more fighting,” Elise says. Her voice is so _weak_. It’s nothing like it usually is, full of energy and joy and hope. Xander has always marveled at Elise’s unbridled ability to _hope_. “For me.”

Something hits Elise in the face: a droplet. A leak from the ceiling? No: Xander’s crying. Elise smiles beatifically up at him, reaching up as if to wipe away the next tear.

Her hand drops as her eyes, glassy, lose focus completely. Someone screams, and it’s Xander.

* * *

“Brother?”

Xander jolts up, the knife under his pillow already in his hand and ready to slash a throat. There’s a curse, and the light of elemental magic fills his vision and throws back his blade. As soon as he has a moment to think, Xander carefully lowers both of his hands. He blinks several times, and Leo’s form appears through the darkness. He swallows. He could have killed him had Leo not been prepared to retaliate.

“Leo,” Xander says. He hates how out of breath he sounds. He’s sweating, but perhaps Leo can’t see that through the dark of the tent—and it is dark. Were it not for that spell, and that voice, Xander wouldn’t have known his own brother.

“You yelled,” Leo says—carefully, Xander thinks. He’s been careful ever since he saw his _outburst_ after battling the kitsune. They haven’t spoken of it. Xander doubts they ever will. “Is everything all right?”

“Of course,” Xander answers, too quickly. “It was nothing.”

Leo doesn’t move from the mouth of the tent. Xander wishes he could see Leo’s face. Leo has always been good at hiding his emotions, but Xander’s learned to read the little cues. Without them, Xander would hardly know his own brother.

A thought occurs to him, one that has him shuddering.

“Did I wake anyone else?” Xander asks, dreading the answer.

“Camilla and Elise,” Leo answers. “Peri and Laslow are outside, too. If anyone else heard, they haven’t come out.”

_Elise_. “It was nothing,” Xander says. “Tell them all to go back to sleep.

“You tell them yourself,” Leo says, but his heart’s not in it. The flap of tent falls shut, and Xander hears Leo speaking with Peri and Laslow. Laslow protests, though Peri says she understands. Eventually, the trio depart.

Xander rests on his uncomfortable little cot—there are few luxuries in war, even for princes—and closes his eyes once more.

The dream had seemed so _real_. He’d felt Elise’s weight in his arms, her breath on his cheek. Xander’s struck by the urge to see her. He has to know she’s all right, even though he knows perfectly well that she has to be. Xander and Corrin are on the same side, and far away from Castle Krakenburg. Why should they cross blades except to spar?

_Just a nightmare_ , Xander tells himself. _Just another nightmare_.

Fear of the dream, and fear of yelling out once more, keeps sleep far from his heavy eyes.

* * *

They march until the Great Wall of Suzanoh looms in the distance. Corrin’s keeping a good face on it, but Xander can tell that this campaign is taking a toll. No matter how short the time, Corrin found a mother and blood family in Hoshido. Xander respects the courage it took—and continues to take—to fight those same people.

It’s not Corrin Xander’s watching the closest, though: it’s Elise. She’s her usual bubbly self, somehow finding time to read about obscure magics and ancient politics with that strange little mage girl who calls herself Nyx while learning tomefaire from Leo and helping Effie with her weight training. She’s happy and vibrant and—alive. Xander can hardly believe it each time he catches sight of her, for in his mind there she is, growing colder by the minute, eyes unseeing, dead.

_Dead_. He’d seen his sister dead.

Xander’s harsher with the troops than he ought to be to distract himself from the nightmare that plagues his thoughts. Camilla tuts at him, and Leo’s watching him with a gaze that says that he knows more than he’s saying (which is nothing), but Xander makes no move to explain himself to either of them. These are his demons; no one else need face them but him.

It was just a dream.

* * *

They reach the wall, and Prince Takumi of Hoshido stands before them. Corrin attempts to reason with him, but the battle begins shortly and without much in the way of preamble. Multiple ballistae make approaching the wall difficult, though with a few well-placed decoys, the Nohrian army quickly rids them of their ammunition. It’s the reinforcements from the forts, wrongfully believed to be empty, that give them the most trouble.

Xander hears it before he sees it: that piercing scream, high and terrified. His horse kicks up and nearly bucks him in shock. As inured as he is to the horrors of the battlefield, this scream has terrified him, too. Xander struggles to quell the beast whilst locating the source of that terrible scream and staying alive on a battlefield suddenly teeming with Hoshidan warriors.

Xander sees her. There is no distinct thoughts or words in his mind; there’s nothing but primal emotions: fear and anger.

Elise has been injured.

It’s no small cut, or some neat slice that can be easily mended. There are no fewer than three arrows protruding from her chest. Xander’s eyes fix on the sniper taking aim—a coward hiding in the parapet of one of the rear fortresses. She’s going for the kill.

Xander reacts on instinct alone. He charges toward Elise’s panicked steed, which can’t seem to decide on a direction in which to flee. Xander flies, and as the arrow is let loose, he extends a hand.

The pain is fleeting and nauseating. Xander stares at it, lodged in his arm as it is. His other hand, while he wasn’t paying attention, has grasped the reins of Elise’s horse. Elise is still breathing—Xander sees the rise and fall of her chest, even if it’s happening too quickly to be good. That’s all that matters.

Xander screams. It’s high and loud and piercing; he can hear Father telling him that it’s not _manly_ enough, not _regal_ enough, but this isn’t about nobility, it’s about _war_ and _revenge_. One of these Hoshidans attempted to murder his sister and has nearly succeeded; Xander can only be satisfied with blood.

There’s a matching scream from overhead: Camilla and her wyvern swoop down low enough that Xander could reach up and touch the underbelly of the beast. Camilla’s axe finds the sniper before she can take another shot and cleaves her in two; Xander can’t help but grin.

Beside him, Elise groans, pained and weak.

Xander can’t move his arm with the arrow still stuck through it. It’s shock, he thinks distantly, above himself. He has to work to recall himself to his body, and only then does he brandish Siegfried in his other hand—not the dominant one, but it will do—and begin to circle Elise. Leo rides up moments later, spells flying, his lips a near blur as he goes through the words. Together, they keep Elise and her horse in one place as Xander screams for a healer whilst keeping away anyone who dares approach. Camilla keeps most of them at bay herself; she circles overhead, taking out scores of Hoshidan fighters—and a few hapless Nohrians as well, not that Xander cares much at the moment—with each fell swoop.

A maid appears soon, escorted by Laslow. Her apron is spattered with blood and she’s breathing hard, but she’s got a staff in one hand and determination in her eyes, and that’s all that matters.

“Lady Elise, is she—?” Laslow asks.

“Help Corrin take the wall _now_ ,” Xander orders, seething. The shock’s wearing off—he feels the pain, and it’s agonizing. His breath catches in his throat. Laslow hesitates. “ _NOW_.”

Laslow hurries to obey his orders. The maid makes to snatch up Xander’s arm, and he has to restrain himself from backhanding her.

“Elise first,” he snaps. He swings Siegfried wildly and sends a shockwave toward an approaching Hoshidan. He falls in the grass, unmoving. Shaking at the demonstration, the maid obeys. Xander keeps an eye on the proceedings; the maid is gentle as she runs her fingers around Elise’s wounds, speaking as rapidly as Leo but without the same malicious intent. Carefully, the maid removes each arrow and quickly says a specific spell—Xander’s ears are ringing too loudly to catch the exact words—and then the wounds are closing, leaving only tears in a dress and, likely, puckered scars.

Four arrows in total, Xander sees when it’s said and done, plus the one in his own arm. It’s a miracle Elise survived to be healed.

A cry goes up on the wall: Corrin’s managed to take down Takumi, and the remaining Hoshidans are throwing down their weapons. Camilla flies overhead, then goes to perch atop the wall, her wyvern letting out a feral scream of victory. Xander raises Siegfried as a the troops roar. They’ve won.

“My lord,” the maid says, timid. Xander had forgotten about her. “Your arm.”

Xander had forgotten that, too, but as soon as he catches sight of the shaft in his arm, he feels the pain anew. He lowers his arm so that the maid can reach, and she repeats the process she used on Elise. It burns, as all healing does, but he grits his teeth and says not a word.

“She’s out cold,” the maid says when she’s finished with Xander. It doesn’t really feel like _his_ —nothing that’s healed does for a while, he’s found—and he shakes it to no avail in an attempt to regain feeling in his fingers. “She won’t wake for a few hours yet, at the very least. She didn’t lose much blood, but the sniper punctured her lungs. I did my best, but she needs rest.”

“She will have it,” Xander said. “Thank you…”

“Felicia,” the maid says. Her smile is tired but bright, and it’s so much like Elise’s that something aches, and it’s not Xander’s arm. “It’s my pleasure to serve.”

“You’ve done well, but there are probably many others,” Leo says. Felicia needs no further prodding; she runs toward the wall, leaping over the corpses of fallen warriors, Hoshidan and Nohrian alike.

“Brother,” Leo says when she’s out of sight.

“Later,” Xander says, and that’s that.

* * *

Xander leaves Leo with all three of their horses and carries Elise inside one of the newly-occupied fortresses himself. Effie tries to take her from him, but Xander’s glare has never failed him, and the retainer falls in line when it becomes clear that she’s been given orders, no matter how silent.

There are beds and rations aplenty, and Xander makes use of the former to permit Elise some rest. She’s sweating, though she’s not running a fever, and she murmurs in her sleep. Xander hopes she’s having good dreams. She used to tell him about them, sometimes, before—before. She said that she dreamed of a place with floating islands and the bluest of blue skies; of little worlds with clear borders you could peer over the edge of, each one of them completely different. She had visions of flowers, impossibly large and rainbow and wonderful, and of smaller ones that she braided into her own hair and wove into crowns. The flowers never faded, for they were wards against evil and pain and death. In her dreams, they were all together as a family and they were happy, exploring new and harmless worlds brimming with life and peace.

As Xander kneels beside her bed, his knees sore from the hard stone, he remembers those dreams.

_I’ll find them_ , Xander wants to promise. _I’ll find those flowers and you will never know pain or sickness or injury or death. You’ll be happy, and safe_.

He says none of those things, but his hands are bunched into fists in the sheets, and he strokes her hair reverently. To think that he once trembled in anticipation when Elise’s birth was announced. He’d thought then, as they all had, that Elise would be another competitor, another child born of a concubine aiming for the throne. (How wrong they all were. Xander thinks sometimes about the ones he killed, and the ones who tried to kill him. He remembers the girl who’d been only a few months younger than himself most vividly. Elise has her eyes, but only in color. There’s kindness in Elise that never existed in the sister who crept into Xander’s room one night with the very knife he now sleeps with.)

“Brother?”

Elise’s eyes are open, albeit barely. Xander musters a smile.

“Sister,” Xander says. She opens her mouth. “Save your breath,” he tells her. “You were badly hurt. You’re all right now. You’re safe.”

“Your arm,” Elise says. She tries to sit up, but Xander’s firm hand keeps her down. “You’re hurt.”

“Not anymore,” Xander says. “Elise, it’s all right. The battle’s over.”

Elise smiles. She’s in pain, and Xander knows that no amount of healing can fix that feeling of _wrongness_ that’s settled in her ribs, aching with each intake of breath. She has to muscle her way through, but Xander won’t leave her to suffer alone. He’ll stay with her for as long as it takes.

He tells her so much, and Elise’s smile widens.

“Big brother,” she murmurs. She reaches up a hand, and for a moment, Xander sees it—Castle Krakenburg, the fight, Elise in his arms. A moment’s all it takes and Xander freezes. “Brother?”

“Oh, Elise,” Xander says. He gathers her in his arms—alive, protesting the sudden movement—and holds her head to his chest. “I failed you today. I promise never to see you harmed again.” There’s so much more he wants to promise, too—rash things, impossible things, but there’s something on his face, and Elise is pulling at his shirt.

“Big brother,” Elise says. Her voice is a little stronger, her face a little pinker. It gives Xander hope. He’s not used to the feeling, but it blooms in his chest and it crushes him because he’s suddenly terrified that it will disappear.

Elise reaches up and wipes Xander’s face.

“Don’t cry,” Elise says. “It’s all right.”

Xander can’t stop. “I’m so sorry,” he says. “I’m so sorry.”

Elise pats his head, and Xander pulls her back in. Her little arms wrap around him. She’s so small and breakable. At the moment, it’s one of the only coherent thoughts in Xander’s mind, and he holds her as softly as he knows how even as she squeezes him with everything she has.

“We’ll stick together on the battlefield from now on, all right?” Xander says. It’s another impossibility—Xander’s prowess is needed on the front lines, and Elise is a healer, not a fighter—but Elise nods against his chest. For just a little while longer, that hope continues to burn bright in his chest.

* * *

Just outside of the room Xander chose for Elise, Leo and Camilla stand guard. They’ve shooed everyone away, including Corrin, if only for Xander’s sake.

“You’re not surprised,” Camilla says when she’s sure everyone has gone. It’s quiet inside; she wonders if Xander and Elise have both fallen asleep as they recover. She’d like to join them—siblings resting together, as if they were a normal family who’d never thought of killing one another for a crown—but she has to stand guard. She won’t leave Leo alone to consider the enormity of what happened on the battlefield alone.

“I— No,” Leo splutters. “Xander’s only human.”

Camilla’s gaze is level as he says, “You’ve always thought of him as more.” Leo’s gaze slides to one side. “He’s not any less for this, you know.”

“I know,” Leo snaps. “It’s just…”

“What?”

“Why doesn’t he show us?”

Camilla frowns. She thinks of the day Corrin set off for the Ice Tribe Village on a mission no one could survive alone, how she had stood with Xander in his quarters as he held his circlet and wept. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen Xander cry, but she could count the occasions on one hand.

“Xander’s always been private,” Camilla says. “We all have our secrets.”

Leo won’t meet Camilla’s eyes. “He’s been having nightmares,” he says.

“I know.”

“You do?”

Camilla laughs. “I know everything,” she says, tossing her hair. It’s not strictly true, but Leo catches her meaning. “I’ve known Xander longer than you have.”

“You’re older than me,” Leo says, grimacing. It’s an unattractive expression that makes him look all of twelve years of age, and Camilla can’t help but laugh. “What now?”

“Nothing, dearest,” Camilla says. “Nothing at all.”

Something stirs inside—Xander, no doubt—and soon enough, he sticks his head out the door. His eyes are bloodshot, but his cheeks are dry.

_Pride_ , Camilla thinks. That old adage comes to mind, and she prays it won’t come to that.

“Elise is asleep but feeling much better,” Xander says. “The wounds will scar, though.”

“My, my,” Camilla says. “Poor Elise. Those Hoshidans will pay for harming our sister.”

“She’s going to pull through, right?” Leo asks. There’s desperation in his voice.

“Of course,” Xander says. “Elise is strong. It would take more than Hoshidan scum to fell her.”

Camilla laughs, but Xander doesn’t smile. His gaze is far away, as if he’s remembering something.

“Leo, you should be with Corrin. We need to plan our assault on the castle,” Xander says. “Camilla, stay here with Elise. Have someone tell me if she wakes.”

Leo scowls but goes off. Camilla waits, watching Xander.

“You should talk to him,” Camilla says as Xander’s leaving.

“What?” he asks.

Camilla stares, then says, “Nothing.”

She turns and walks into Elise’s room, stopping to stand at her bedside. Xander’s face might have been impassive, but the sheets and Elise’s collar are damp with tears. Camilla sits where she imagines Xander might have been and closes her eyes.

After a good few minutes, she hears Xander walk away from the room. Camilla doesn’t believe in gods the way the sorcerers of Nohr profess belief in the Dark Dragon, but she sends out a plea to whomever might be listening that this war end sooner rather than later. Nohr might be winning with Xander and Corrin at the helm, but they’re fraying like loose ends, and Camilla doesn’t know how much longer this can last.

There’s Elise, though: still alive. The sight of Elise’s twitching fingers and the faint smile on her face as she mumbles in her sleep give her the hope that they can yet survive.

“Please,” Camilla murmurs. “Please.”

Elise rolls toward Camilla’s voice, still asleep, and snuggles into the sheets.


End file.
